I Am NOT Fat!
by TheMisfitToy
Summary: Dwalin isn't very tactful, and Thorin is a very temperamental dwarf. Pre-established M!Preg and hormones galore!


I do not own The Hobbit or any associated characters. A companion piece to 'Dwarves and Hormones'

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If the halls of Erebor quaked when the mighty Smaug descended upon them, it was nothing compared to the fear they felt when Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, son of Thráin, son of Thrór stopped fitting into his tunics after four months of pregnancy. The wail that echoed from the royal chambers that morning would forever haunt those in the surrounding tunnels.

Bilbo had been sleeping rather peacefully when the first shriek met his ears and within moments he was tumbling out of bed, furs and sheets wrapped around his legs bringing him into contact with the floor. Struggling out of his furry restraints, Bilbo's eyes widened as he gazed at Thorin standing in front of their wardrobe in only his small clothes, fine tunics strewn across the flag stone floors.

"Thorin, what's wrong?" Bilbo asked, terribly concerned that something had happened to his love or their unborn child.

The ensuing wail was loud enough to bring every dwarf –which consisted of Balin, Dwalin, Óin, Glóin, Kili, Fili and Dís- charging through the carved oak door of the royal chambers, all in various states of undress –or complete nudity if you're Dwalin- brandishing whatever heavy object was close to hand, to be confronted with the sight of a hobbit, naked as a jay bird and a distressed king with tears running down his face.

"What the bloody hell happened, hobbit?!" Dís demanded, approaching her hormonal brother carefully, tossing a dark glare at the bewildered halfling.

"I don't know, I woke up and he was crying I don't know what to do!" the hobbit replied, running a hand through tangled honey hair

"Thorin, honey, what's wrong?" Dís cooed, as she reached the side of her oldest sibling, adopting the same tone one uses with fussy babes

"Nothing fits! Why doesn't anything fit Dís? SOMEONE CHANGED MY CLOTHES, HOW DARE THEY? I'LL HAVE THEY HEADS!" Thorin progressed from tears to anger so fast that the other males got whiplash.

"Aye laddie, that'll be the baby weight, perfectly natural" Dwalin replied before his –secret- lover could reply, completely missing the sharp intake of breath from Óin, Glóin and Balin

"Are you calling me fat?" Thorin spun to face his childhood friend, eyes launching daggers at the tattooed dwarf

"Well, yer've clearly put on a few pounds laddie" the oblivious dwarf explained, and every single person not currently pregnant, sighed and slapped their foreheads

"Brother, now may be a good time to shut yer trap" Balin whispered, concerned for the safety of his apparently oblivious younger brother.

"Why, is only the truth, ye can see the bump already"

"I. Am. NOT. FAT! YOU BASTARD!" Thorin screamed picking up a nearby tome and launching it with brilliant accuracy at the unsuspecting dwarf –who got a few thousand pages of dwarf history to the face- before bursting into tears again, sinking to his knees as sobs wracked his form.

"Oh honey, he's just a silly man, he doesn't know what he's on about, how about we get you something nice and warm and the silly dwarves can go and make some tea and we'll have a chat, yes?" Dís soothed, kneeling next to her brother as she wrapped strong arms around him, tossing a filthy glare at her bleeding lover.

A subdued nod and several hand motions later and every male dwarf not currently with child had near sprinted from the room, yelling about blankets and tea and the like whilst Dís and Bilbo managed to get Thorin settled into the grand bed he'd carved himself.

Bilbo was desperate to sneak away until the crisis was fully under control, but his damn Baggins blood refused to do something so un-hobbit like, it just wasn't proper. Of course, knocking up a dwarf king wasn't exactly in the hobbit handbook of propriety, nor was traipsing across the realm for that matter.

When Balin, Óin and Dís' sons returned laden with tea, blankets and the sugared biscuits Thorin had developed a recent fondness for, Bilbo near cheered in relief.

Thankfully, Dís had decent enough foresight to plan ahead for when her brother's tunics grew too tight for him, and had had some breeches and tunics made in advance –which Balin had also brought with him and his pile of blankets- and once the king was thoroughly calmed and fully dressed, his sister shooed everyone out and re-braided Thorin's hair, nimble fingers weaving the strands with practiced ease.

Once the dwarf was fully presentable he headed to the main halls where an open court was being held to help settle some silly spats that had cropped up amongst the new caravan of dwarves from Erid Luin.

Unfortunately, the new arrivals hadn't heard of the royal pregnancy, and so when one of them commented on how soft in figure the king looked –in a whisper of course- all hell broke loose. Amidst the yelling, tears and threats, Kili and Fili managed to smuggle the new dwarves out, rapidly explaining about the pregnancy and the disastrous effect it had on Thorin.

When Thorin declared that no one was to look upon him until he was 'un-fat', no one took him seriously, passing it off as the hormones.

When Dwalin received yet another heavy tome to the face, the message was quickly spread amongst the inhabitants of Erebor that under no uncertain terms was anybody to look at the king. It made things especially difficult for Bilbo, who was trying to keep up with the demands of a lusty pregnant dwarf without looking at him, or doing something that would cause offence and tears and tantrums.

It was a week before Thorin allowed anybody to look at him, and with that, a whole new slew of problems arose.

Those closest to the royal couple agreed, in no uncertain terms, the next six months were going to be hell.


End file.
